


Training Sessions

by tiinyblue



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiinyblue/pseuds/tiinyblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen has never made sense - but, isn't that the way love is supposed to go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Sessions

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the foundation for a longer fic I'll be writing. The idea was in my head and I wanted to get it out, so, for your enjoyment - here is the short version!

Training. Barry liked the idea, the concept. It agreed with the logical mechanics of his mind, the well oiled cogs spinning in a manner that made sense. So yes, training made sense. 

Oliver Queen didn’t. He never had. 

There was a harmony to his rich smile and the way he held a bow that was utterly senseless. At first, Barry had been disappointed that the playboy from the dead turned out to be the vigilante, his words seeming as smooth and as full of deceit as the rest of him. And yet — and yet, there was a determination and a selflessness that Oliver didn’t seem to see when he looked in the mirror. But Barry saw it, and the more he could see it, the more that things refused to stay logical. Only a few saw the hero that the vigilante truly was. And fewer still saw the hero in Oliver Queen.

A huff was released between clenched teeth as Barry faced Oliver, the suit flexing and shifting with the movements of his muscles, each as tense and trembling as the drawn bow-string. He needed this. He needed to be stronger, so he could protect those who were in peril. On the other hand, Oliver seemed to take a peculiar pleasure in kicking his ass.

Point proven. 

Dodging the arrow was easy, but as it exploded inches from his face, Barry’s concentration faltered, back smacking the ground hard enough to press the air from his lungs. Yeah, so he wasn’t very good at this yet. Still, rescuing people from burning buildings and dumping criminals in cop cars (with the cuffs on them — just to show off, a little) was a little easier than facing Oliver.

Felicity had warned him. Next time, Barry really ought to take notice of that. Maybe even write it down. She usually was right, in an adorable and slightly dorky way. Like him, really, though, they had more in common than that. Not anything Barry would admit, not even to himself, and especially not to anyone else. Even Felicity couldn’t have any good advice for this. 

“Concentrate, Barry — ” 

And Barry moved again, speed rushing through each nerve and cell in his body with a shiver of lighting that was unlike anything else he’d ever felt. It was awesome and terrifying and —

An arrow caught him by surprise, but the world stayed slow, electric gaze lingering upon the tip of the arrow. Not bulky, so not an explosive, nor a flashbang. Ah — netting. It took more work to dodge that, feet swift and sure in their destination as the string and knots twisted to the ground with nothing within its grasp. 

Barry skidded to a stop, a grin stretching his mouth that only grew wider when he noticed something shining in Oliver’s gaze. It looked rather a lot like pride.

“How’s that? I mean, that was good, right? You missed me! Well, actually I dodged them but — ”

One, green-gloved hand was raised. Barry snapped his mouth shut. Sort of, he was still grinning, teeth flashing, and Oliver’s serious face creased into a smile in return. 

See? It didn't make sense. 

Then, the bow was lifted, two arrows flying free. One to the thigh, one to the ribs, the other at his collarbone. A flurry of curses escaped as Barry dropped to his knees before rolling over onto his back, something of a choked laugh bursting aloud. Barry couldn’t see his face, but was pretty sure that Oliver was still smiling. 

 

—

 

Training, and running, and generally existing as the Flash burns a lot of calories. And also, Barry really liked Big Belly Burger, which was why he was crashed across his bed with three pizza boxes scattered on the floor, and one on his — big belly. Still, he wasn’t expecting Oliver to waltz into his post-training relaxation session. At least he hadn’t got his bow in his hand, or his mask on his stupid, handsome face.

“—Oliver? Wha— Wha— what are you doing here?”

Oh, and there was that smile again, curling his mouth upward, eyes shining with something that wasn’t pride. Barry wasn’t sure what it was. He had his suspicions, and he had his hopes. Whether those are things that are truth, or just a wish, Barry wasn’t sure, and he didn’t have the nerve to ask. Instead, he held out the remaining pizza box with the last few slices in. 

“Pizza?” 

The mattress dipped as Oliver sat down, and snagged a slice without hesitation, taking a moment of silence to finish it off before giving what Barry had decided would be a lecture on distraction. At least he’d managed to get the arrows out without too much trouble, the wounds shiny and pink — new scars that would soon fade.

“You’re getting better, Barry. I’m hard on you — but you’ll thank me.”

Barry snorted, and brushed pizza crumbs from his lap, “I doubt it, but thanks. Sort of. I guess there’s no one else that could show me any of this stuff. I’m a — I’m a lab guy, y’know? Not a hero.”

Oliver paused mid-chew, though the moment was not noticed by Barry, distracted once again by a loose thread in his sweatpants. He rolled the thread between his fingers, stopping only when Oliver spoke once again. Each word was measured, and yet no less precious — the emotion was between the lines, even if Barry wasn’t so good at picking up on that kind of thing usually. 

“The Flash is a hero, Barry. And so are you.”

Barry was glad that he wasn’t looking Oliver in the eye, because a warmth feeling curls in his gut, and he was pretty sure that he had a soppy expression on his face. It was the pride of proving himself to a friend, maybe, maybe it was —

Maybe it was how it felt to fall in love with Oliver Queen. Illogical and senseless, and somehow so much more than just chemicals firing in the brain, more than electric signals through the nerves. It was more intoxicating than even the speed-force, and Barry was pretty sure it made his heart beat faster too. 

“I — thanks. Still, I think you enjoy beating me up too much. Actually no, next time beat me up, please. Arrows actually take a while to heal. At least for me — relatively, I mean. Not even got a nurse to kiss it better.”

The strange sound that Oliver made might have been a laugh, but Barry wasn’t sure. 

“You want me to find you a nurse to kiss it better? I think you’d have to ask her out for dinner, first.”

“Pizza counts. right?”

There was a moment of the world in suspension, time shuddering to a stop as both Barry and Oliver paused to consider the implications of such a sentence. Oliver looked down at the almost finished slice of pizza in his hand, and Barry made a sound like a dying animal. 

“— you want me to kiss it better?”

There was no safe way to answer that, because really Barry would like that a lot, thank you very much, but he figured that saying as much would ruin the strange and wonderful friendship between them. Instead, he stayed silent, which he realised after another tick of the clock, was pretty much saying yes. When he looked up, his vision was not of Oliver leaving, but of a pair of bright, warm eyes staring into his. Barry hadn’t even heard Oliver move, but there he was, only inches away. 

He can’t breathe.

Being kissed by Oliver was something of a supernova, and Barry was afraid to move, afraid that the illusion or the dream or the hallucination would shatter. There was the gentle brush of facial hair against his jaw, his mouth and then Oliver’s lips, soft and slightly chapped, pressing to his own. 

Barry still had not moved, and Oliver shifted as if to jerk away, afraid that he had misread this whole thing. He could taste his own pulse in his mouth, and that was when something in Barry began to work again, the cogs in his brain shifting and whirring into place. He wasn’t gentle in his insistence to pull Oliver back into the kiss, a soft moan sticking in his throat as a warm tongue slid between his lips and into his mouth.

He was hardly an expert in kissing, not like Oliver — but this was as close to perfection as Barry could imagine. It only improved when he found himself being lifted into Oliver’s lap, the sudden friction and closeness almost unbearable in its sweetness. Deft fingers curl in dark hair, and Barry smiled into the kiss at the pleased hum he received in return. 

Of course, Oliver was the pro in this as he was in all things, and Barry had absolutely no problem in him taking charge, his grip in Oliver’s hair only tightening as a warm mouth shifted down the sensitive skin of his neck to the pink, healing scar that came from an arrow. He became suddenly very glad that Joe and Iris weren’t home, because he was pretty sure he was being rather noisy, but had no intentions of attempting to control himself. As Oliver nibbled and kissed at the scar, he simply melted into the attention, his heart slamming a symphony so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it.

Oliver could. He could taste that pulse on Barry’s tongue, on the sweat-slicked skin of his collarbone, on the warm skin just above Barry’s heart. He removed both of their shirts with swift, determined movements, and he cannot resist the sound that he makes as all that skin is left bare for his hands and his mouth to explore. 

With a tenderness completely opposite to the fierceness of their kisses, he moved Barry from his lap and onto the bed, taking his time to trace the shape of the mark upon Barry’s ribs. He had been so very careful not to make any killshots, despite how naturally such things still came to him. No matter his promise to Tommy, it was engrained within his bones, but it was not so hard to miss when it came to Barry. He was far too precious. 

The hardness pressing against Oliver’s side as he laid between Barry’s legs was no surprise, and he shifted to create some kind of friction, to gain a rush of satisfaction as Barry’s head sunk back onto the pillow, hands curled into the sheets so hard they were beginning to tear. 

“You missed one.”

Barry’s voice was hoarse, and Oliver adored it, a smile tugging at his mouth despite his own desperation to get the pair of them naked. He wanted to take this slow, to prove that this — this feeling between them was not a one off. It was something that he wanted to savour, and that he wanted to last. 

Instead of speaking, unsure of his own voice at present, Oliver tugged down Barry’s trousers with teasingly slow movements, gaze never moving from his lover’s face. There were sparks in Barry’s eyes, flecking them with gold and with fire. Lust was not an expression Oliver had ever seen upon him before, but it was a look he intended to see far more often. It was not one easily forgotten. 

He brushed his lips against the largest mark at Barry’s inner thigh, a shiver making the muscle tremble as the briskness of Oliver’s beard sent trembles through his bones. And oh, but Oliver took his time now, biting around the sensitive skin, just enough to hear Barry’s breath catch, his hands pulling upon Oliver’s hair enough to hurt. Each bite is soothed by a warm tongue, nose brushing against Barry’s hip. 

“All better?”

Oliver’s voice was rough and it was shaking, and he was utterly grateful when Barry pulled him upward for a kiss, their mouths slotting together like some kind of poetry. A moan rumbled through his chest, released in an exhale against the pulse in Barry’s neck as a hand is pushed down his boxers.

Barry honestly wasn’t sure if he was doing this right — but it felt right, it made some kind of strange sense and he wasn’t going to stop to overthink this. Instead, he focused on the small noises that Oliver made, each one an achievement, a reward. The feeling of skin against skin was more than enough to send him into some kind of insanity, teetering on the edge as he took Oliver’s cock into his hand with a quiet sigh. 

This time it was Oliver’s fingers twisting in Barry’s hair, his breathing sharp and ragged as he came unravelled. He shivered at every touch, the pressure of Barry’s mouth as he sucked at a sweet spot behind Oliver’s ear, the scrape of teeth at the same as a thumb flicked over his tip.

If this what insanity was like, then Oliver never wanted to know anything else. 

He relinquished his grip upon Barry’s hair with only a little hesitation, capturing his lips once more as his own hand slid down the scars he had made — only two of them, as he became distracted, hand pressing down on the bare skin of Barry’s cock. Barry shuddered at the friction, jerking into Oliver’s hand, and for the first time he truly allowed himself to look Oliver in the eye. They looked a mess, he thought, both of them with their hair mussed, cheeks red, pupils so dark they were an eternity in themselves. 

“— Don’t stop.” 

It was so quiet that Barry thought he had imagined it, but he could see the evidence in Oliver’s kiss-swollen and parted lips. Both of them increased their rhythm, one that fell into place without thought, without effort. Their kisses became frantic, Oliver finally letting go of whatever control he had as he came apart upon Barry’s hand, his moan swallowed by the other, his other hand tearing a hole in the sheets that he couldn’t bring himself to regret.

Just watching Oliver come undone was enough, but the warmth spilling over his hand was almost too much, and Barry followed soon after with a sound smothered within the curve of Oliver’s neck. They lay there, panting, chests heaving. Oliver huffs a laugh once Barry wipes his hand on the discarded t-shirt and does the same, reaching afterward to link their fingers together.

“If you do that every time, I think I might let you shoot me more often.”

Oliver turned his head to look at Barry, and there was no hiding his smile, nor the love in his gaze. 

“I think I can find a better excuse to do that than to shoot you.”

 

Oliver Queen still made no sense to Barry. But god, he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing.


End file.
